


find you in the dark

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 3.10 fic, Canon Compliant, F/M, because we like communication and don’t always see it, missing moment, pretty fluffy because we deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: Waking up in the middle of the night to find his bare legs tangled with hers beneath her floral sheets never lost its thrill. To feel the comforting weight of his arm thrown across her waist always sent a sigh slipping past her lips, had her sinking back into the mattress safe in the knowledge that she was secure, protected.





	find you in the dark

“My god.”

 

Betty flips another card over, hand cramping as she places it on the far pile to her right before grabbing a fresh one from her left. “Hey, Jug.” She greets him vaguely, only aware of his presence stepping into her room by the muted thud of his footfalls on her rug and the echo of his exclamation.

 

Still, her stomach flutters pleasantly when she feels him bend to drop a brief kiss to the crown of her head, and her fingers flex around her pen from something other than cramp.

 

“Betty, when did you find the time to do all this?” Jughead asks, picking up a card from the pile closest to the hand that’s flying across a clean flash card and flicking it between his fingers. Betty lets out a small squeak of protest, halting her scribble to snatch it from his grasp and place it carefully back in the appropriate pack.

 

“There’s a system,” she states firmly, making sure all the edges line up neatly. “And you’d be surprised how motivating trying to stay away from my mom right now can be,” she adds in answer to his question, dropping her pen briefly to tighten her ponytail.

 

Blowing out a breath, Jughead lets a hand fall to her shoulder, in equal parts sympathy and understanding. “I actually don’t think I would be.”

 

She shoots him a soft but tired smile, and Jughead looks like he can’t help but let his fingers gently graze the dark, puffy skin beneath her eyes. “How are you sleeping?” he murmurs, smiling when she leans her cheek into his cupped palm. Betty knows how much Jughead loves these little moments of intimacy, when it’s just the two of them. Even if it’s just her head on his shoulder, his hand on the base of her spine, the tension falls freely from his body when a little part of them is touching.

 

When they first started dating, despite the initial hesitancy in his touch, it had surprised Betty just how physical Jughead was with her. He’d always kept to himself when they were growing up, like he was being careful with himself, metering out his contact with others as if there was a limit. But when she’d kissed him back it broke a dam, and he was a glutton for any and all intimacy. To feel his fingers lace through hers, skim the patch of skin revealed by her sweater, his lips graze her neck, suck bruises onto her thighs—each time it set her body buzzing with the pleasant hum of being wanted, and wanting in return.

 

“Alright,” she lies, reaching up to hold his palm in place. She turns her head to drop a kiss there, like he’d done for her what seems like an eternity ago, a secret reassurance.

 

“Maybe I should spend more nights here,” he worries, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. At that Betty stands, looping her arms around the back of his neck so she can bury her fingers in the thick hair there. Her sneakers creak as she leans up on tiptoes to plant a firm kiss against his lips—he chases her when she pulls away.

 

“I’m fine, Juggie, honestly. And I know tensions are running high in the camp right now, especially since you’ve only been back a short while. They need you there. I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine,” she smiles, bright and unwavering.

 

It’s not that she doesn’t want him to stay over. Waking up in the middle of the night to find his bare legs tangled with hers beneath her floral sheets never lost its thrill. To feel the comforting weight of his arm thrown across her waist always sent a sigh slipping past her lips, had her sinking back into the mattress safe in the knowledge that she was secure, protected.

 

Waking in the morning to Jughead’s breath blowing steadily against her neck, his body curled around every inch of hers—to feel _him_ , hard and pressing into her in the hazy grey light of dawn. In those moments that existed outside of time, she’d rock her hips back slowly, coaxing him out of slumber with that tempting pressure. Betty’s thighs would press together when his disgruntled moans turn to something more, breath hitching as he met her every thrust, his sleep-laced chuckle dampening her panties.

 

Or sometimes she’d sweep the stray curl off his forehead before slipping her hand inside his boxers, relishing in the sounds she could pull from his throat as she touched him, teasing at first, working him up until her sheets were branded with the scent of his sweat and her walls echoed his groans. They’d been parted for too long these past weeks, and Betty was determined to make up for lost time now that he was here in her bed.

 

In times like those, Betty could pretend that they were just two normal teenagers, careless and stupidly in love. She’d pretend that her mother would care about her having a boy in her room, care about anything but the Farm and the elusive, evangelical Edgar. Instead she supposes she should be grateful that Alice refilled her prescription and left the pills in the container in her nightstand.

 

But she couldn’t help the slight annoyance that there were no rules left for her to break.

 

Despite that, Betty was hesitant to have Jughead stay with her again. The nightmares were back, and she didn’t want to wake him up every night with her screams, like she’d been waking herself.

 

Hearing from Attorney McCoy that the only way she might be able to steal back her college fund from an indoctrinated Alice was to visit her other parent had only served to send a slew of memories rushing to the surface. Even though it was insane, everything from Archie’s juvie sentence to the G&G madness had been enough to distract her from the previous catastrophe in her life.

 

But now she was once again waking to the sounds of candy-sweet phone calls, and the smell of blood as it pooled on the living room floor.

 

Betty knows that it’s useless to keep something like this from Jughead for long, but he’s already got so much on his plate that she thinks a little delay in the reveal might be okay.

 

“You’d tell me if there was anything wrong, right?” he presses, worry swimming in his eyes, stirring the guilt curdling her gut.

 

“Of course. I’ve probably just been cramming a little too much SAT prep in is all. I’m going to have to ask to borrow Veronica’s super expensive concealer if I have any more nights like these,” she jokes, but it falls slightly off the mark and she can feel his grip on her waist tighten a fraction.

 

“You’re beautiful no matter what,” he whispers against her lips, and Betty lets herself get lost in the perfect give and take of the kiss, sliding her hands down until they can slip beneath his jacket and push it to the floor.

.

.

.

She can’t breathe.

 

Her lungs are burning as she runs through the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, her legs too slow, everything moving through thick mud. Something’s gaining on her but she’s too scared to look back, the only way out into the Gargoyle King’s lair. She bursts through the ancient doors and the scene changes.

 

The walls are closing in and the glass is shattering and he’s closer to getting her than ever. She can feel his hands, wet with her friends’ blood, around her throat, squeezing, squeezing until her ears are ringing…

 

Betty shoots upright, scream caught and strangled in her throat. What escapes instead is something of a garbled howl, and she clutches at her neck like she’s trying to pry the memory of Hal’s hands from her skin.

 

“Betty? Betty! Betty, what is it? Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby.” Jughead is frantic in his efforts to soothe her, but slightly less so than she is. He reaches up to brush sweaty tendrils of hair back from her face, but the sight of looming hands is too much and Betty flinches before she can even register what she’s doing.

 

Jughead freezes. He tries to hide it but even in the dim light coming from her nightstand she catches the pain flash across his features. It’s gone quickly, but it’s enough that she feels her face crumple, new tears falling to follow the path carved out by those left from her nightmare.

 

Practically lunging forwards, Betty falls into Jughead’s embrace, relief flooding her system when his arms instantly wrap around her shoulders, cradling her head. Whispered nothings are spoken into her hair as he rocks her gently.

 

It takes her several gasps to catch her breath and staunch her tears, but he waits until she does to ask another question. “Betty, you were yelling in your sleep, how often has this been happening?”

 

It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so soft and sad around the edges that it hurts her chest to look for too long, knowing she’s the cause. “Just a few nights, since—” She swallows, sniffing indelicately. “Since you went back to sleep at the camp.”

 

“Betty.” His voice is wrecked, and she feels a fresh wave of tears crest.

 

“No, don’t! It’s not your responsibility and I’m fine, I just— I don’t get that much sleep, but that’s nothing new. You’ve got so much going on, what with The Gargoyles, and finding out who the King is, and Hiram and Archie, seeing your mom and Jellybean again. And then there’s the Serpents, and everything with Fangs and Cheryl and Toni—you don’t need to be worrying about something else.” Betty isn’t looking at him by the time she goes quiet, instead focusing on where her hands are worrying the patch of bedspread to stop her nails sinking into the skin of her palms.

 

Jughead sighs, running a hand through his hair before he moves it to cup the back of her neck firmly. “Betty, don’t you know by now—I want it to be my responsibility. When it comes to you I want everything. Good, bad, snot on my shirt at three AM,” he adds, picking at the embarrassingly big damp patch she’d cried into his chest moments before. It works for coaxing a small laugh from her throat, broken and hitched but still laced with amusement.

 

“Everything else, it’s just something I have to deal with. You are someone I _want_ to take care of, okay?” Jughead lifts her chin with a finger, and she nods, unable to speak under the earnest look he’s giving her.

 

“Okay,” she sighs beneath the kiss he leaves against her sweaty forehead. Betty stills. “Hold on,” she says, pulling back. “You weren’t here when I went to sleep.” In the midst of her panic she’d not had time to realise that her bed had been significantly more empty when she’d fallen into her fitful sleep.

 

He has the grace to look sheepish. “I’ve gotten a lot better at climbing into your window quietly it seems,” he replies as if that explains everything.

 

Betty shakes her head at him fondly, falling back against the pillows and tucking herself against his chest. “I think it’s safe to say that you can just use the front door now, it’s not like Mom doesn’t know you’re sleeping here. I’ll get you a key cut tomorrow,” she adds through a yawn.

 

There’s a pause before he replies, quietly. “Sounds good to me.”

 

Betty’s almost drifted back to sleep, startling herself awake in fright a couple times only to notice the calming way Jughead’s combing his fingers through her hair, when he speaks again.

 

“Want to tell me what the nightmares are about? Might help,” he suggests, sounding on the edge of sleep himself.

 

Her initial instinct is to say no, burrow closer and tell him it’s all but forgotten now she knows he’s here with her, but something tugging behind her bellybutton stops her.

 

“It always starts at the Sisters,” she begins, tracing aimless patterns across his stomach with the tip of her finger to keep herself grounded. “I’m running, but it’s that dream run where everything is slow and you can’t get away. And then… then I’m standing in front of The Black Hood, and the windows of his cell are cracking and he’s walking towards me and… I know he’s going to kill me—” Her breath shakes but Jughead doesn’t interrupt, letting her collect herself as he holds her steady. “And then I wake up.”

 

His legs wind their way around hers, tugging her until she’s almost lying across him, as close as they can get. “He can’t hurt you now, baby. You never have to see him again.”

 

“But I do.” Her voice hitches and she squeezes her eyes tightly to stop any fresh tears—she’s tired of crying over this.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Mom… Mom forged his signature so that she could drain my college account to give in donation to the Farm. If I want a chance at getting the money back I need him to sign an affidavit saying he never gave permission. I have to see him.” The date has been looming over the past week, and with every day that it gets closer her sleep gets worse, her piles of flash cards get thicker.

 

“God, Betts,” he breathes. She can feel the worry rolling off him in waves, and despite his earlier admissions she’s going to need a little while longer to quell the guilt that instantly stirs in her stomach. “That woman is despicable.”

 

The loathing in his voice is so visceral that it warms her heart and that thought alone makes her want to laugh. She swallow it down, lest he think her still hysterical and instead says, “Tell me about it.”

 

“Is that why you’ve been studying for the SATs so hard?” he hedges after a second, and she loves that he can understand these things so quickly. She loves _him_.

 

“If I can’t get it all back I’m gonna need a scholarship, and it’s not like studying has been a priority this past year,” she answers wryly, cringing as she thinks about all the potential titles of her college essays. _My Father The Serial Killer: What I Learnt During My Year In Hell_.

 

“There’s still time,” Jughead reassures, pulling her out of her thoughts. “And if you’re not happy with your score this time you can take it again, right? It doesn’t have to be perfect first time round.”

 

She kisses him then, her practical, wonderful boyfriend. How he has time to talk her down amongst his other extracurriculars, she doesn’t know. But it’s not on her list of things to question it right now.

 

“I love you,” she tells him fiercely, because it never seems like enough.

 

The grin that works it’s away across his face tells her it might be. “I love you, too. And I’ll come with you, whenever you have to go and visit him.”

 

“Really?” _You have time_ , she almost adds but bites it back.

 

“Hey, you came with me to pick up my dad from prison, I’ll come with you to visit yours in maximum security. It’ll be our thing,” he jokes.

 

She smiles freely for the first time in weeks. She wants to kiss him again, keep on kissing him until her head is empty but for the feeling of his body pressed to hers, until her lips are swollen and bruised. She wants to have him let her push him back against the sheets and crawl over his body until she’s in control again, feel him between her thighs as she rocks against his lap, pulling him in deeper until she’s whimpering his name like a prayer and he’s calling hers like a song, coming together in every way possible.

 

But right now they’re both skirting the edge of much-needed sleep, and there’s time— _so_ _much_ _time_ —for that later. She settles for curling back against his chest to fall into a peaceful, dream-free slumber, knowing he’ll be there to see her wake.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, and a comment is always appreciated if you enjoyed ❤️
> 
> title from back in my body by maggie rogers


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